


The Many Loves of Patty Fink

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, F/F, FatT Femslash July 2018, FatTFemslash, Pre-Series, spoilers for bluff city
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Patricia Phinkel: out of towner, low-level criminal, main source of Hector Who, and (sometimes) woman in love.





	1. Spring (Alexa Baker, The Cost of Greed) / Winter (Chris Andrews, No Greater Love)

**Author's Note:**

> written for [femslash July](https://twitter.com/Femslash_Table).

_ Spring _

Patty leans back on the fence that runs along the pier, deliberately casual, waiting. Bluff City locals are out in force, enjoying the beach in the warm-enough spring air before the wave of summer tourists arrive. It’s sunny enough that her sunglasses don’t look out of place, but still cool enough that she can wear one of her long trench coats without getting odd looks.

 

It also means it’s still cool enough that she can wear her hair down without it becoming a sweaty tangle which is good. Alexa is always easier to fluster when she has her hair down, and a flustered Alexa is much more likely to give her information that she shouldn’t know.

 

Patty spots Alexa before Alexa sees her (as it should be - Patty wouldn’t be good at her job if she wasn’t good at hiding in plain sight). Alexa looks around for a moment before pulling a thin grey cardigan out of her enormous handbag and pulling it on over the floaty lavender dress she’s wearing. Alexa looks around again, obviously searching for her in the crowd. Patty takes a long look at her, checking for any suspicious behaviour. She trusts Alexa, sure, but in her line of work you can never be too careful. 

 

Alexa squints at the beach for a moment, still looking for Patty, before turning to buy an ice cream from a cart by the pier. The wind makes the hem of her dress flutter around her knees as she moves, catching Patty’s attention. It’s a good colour for her.

 

Patty shakes herself, moving carefully through the crowd past Alexa, to a bench not far from where the van dropped Alexa off. She seats herself carefully, resting her arm along the back of the bench and keeping her eyes fixed on Alexa.

 

Alexa turns around, starting when she sees Patty. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she walks towards Patty.

 

She has two ice cream cones, and she holds one out to Patty.

 

“I thought you were probably already here somewhere,” says Alexa.

 

Patty shrugs. “Maybe.”

 

Alexa huffs a laugh. “Well I hope you weren’t waiting too long. Here.”

 

Patty takes the ice cream. It’s chocolate chip, one of her three favourite flavours (she’s always careful to keep changing it, just in case… well, no time to go into it here, but it’s something  _ They  _ track). She tilts her head to the empty seat next to her, and Alexa sits. Patty can almost feel the warmth of Alexa’s back on the arm that she has draped over the back of the bench.

 

Patty flicks her hair over one shoulder. “So. What do you have for me?”

 

“The ice cream wasn’t enough?” says Alexa.

 

“It’s fine,” says Patty, “but you know I’m looking for something a little more than this.”

 

Alexa hums, and takes a bite of her own ice cream. It’s the same purple as her dress. Grape, maybe, or liquorice.

 

“I might know a little something,” says Alexa.

 

Patty flicks her gaze away from Alexa’s lips, grateful for the sunglasses hiding her gaze, and collects her thoughts. She leans in a little closer, feeling pleased when Alexa’s breath hitches.

 

“Oh I’m sure you know more than just a  _ little _ ,” says Patty, “but what would  _ I _ have to do to get you to share a little with  _ me _ ?”

 

“Well I don’t know,” says Alexa coyly, leaning closer, “but you’re a smart woman. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

 

Patty hums theatrically, to play for time and also to make Alexa smile (which she does). “Well you already  _ have _ an ice cream…”

 

“Mmhmm?”

 

“And you already have this wonderful beachside view…” continues Patty, gesturing at the beach behind them.

 

Alexa laughs. “Uh huh…”

 

Patty drums her fingers on the seat behind them for a moment then shifts, trailing her fingers lightly along the back of Alexa’s neck. Alexa shivers, her skin warm under Patty’s fingertips.

 

“How about this?” says Patty, and leans in.

 

Patty means it to be a slow and careful thing, really, she does, but despite her best efforts she’s never been particularly good about slow and careful around good sources or pretty women, and Alexa has always been both.

 

She can taste Alexa’s ice cream on her lips as she leans back. She runs her tongue over her lips.  _ Grape _ , she thinks.

 

Alexa presses her lips together for a moment before she lets out a slow breath, her eyes fixed to Patty’s face. Patty curls her toes in her shoes to stop her leg from jiggling.

 

“So?” says Patty after a long moment, “Uh. How’s that for an offer?”

 

“Well I don’t know,” says Alexa slowly, “let me hear it again.”

 

Patty smiles, and leans in again.

 

\--

 

_ Winter _

Patty wrapped herself up in her warmest coat before she headed out towards the boardwalk. The wind coming off the ocean was freezing, salt spray reaching her even this far back from the water. She tucked her arms under her arms, stamping her feet a little to try to keep warm and glancing over her shoulder every so often to try and spot trouble before it got to her.

 

The bad weather was keeping most of the trouble inside, which was half the reason she’d suggested the boardwalk as a meeting spot. Patty checked her watch. The others were late. Patty shifted her feet again. No need to really worry unless they were more than fifteen minutes late. Everybody got cold feet, especially on a night like this one.

 

A lone car drove up, stopping in front of the alcove Patty was waiting in. The window wound down, slowly.

 

Patty jumped back close to the wall, reaching for her weapon before she saw who it was.

 

Chris held up her hands. “Hey, it’s just me.”

 

Patty let out a breath but didn’t move closer, keeping herself to the shadows. “Hey. Sorry. Guess this whole thing has got me a little jumpy.”

 

Chris nodded. “Yeah, I mean, knowing about all this stuff is one thing, but trying to like, solve it is a whole  _ thing _ you know?”

 

“Always is,” said Patty, trying to add confidence to her voice.

 

“You wanna get in?” said Chris, “It’s pretty cold to be waiting outside tonight.” 

 

Patty hesitated for a moment before she moved towards the car. Chris wasn’t someone she was afraid of. Not yet anyway. Hector let her keep calling in, and that was enough of a vouch for Patty right now.

 

The car was warm, especially compared to the chill of the wind outside. It smelt faintly of coffee, although not unpleasantly.

 

“Guess the others are late,” said Chris, after a moment.

 

Patty hummed, non-commital.

 

“I guess it is pretty hard to get around the city at the moment, what with-” Chris waved a hand “-you know. Everything.”

 

“Omega love,” murmured Patty.

 

Chris hummed in agreement. “Do you think he…”

 

Patty looked at her as she trailed off. “Do I think he what?”

 

She didn’t have to ask who they’re talking about. She might not have met Chris before but they’re on the same enough wavelength.

 

“Do you think he knew what would happen?”

 

“I don’t think he was planning on dying.” Patty considered things for a moment. “Well, not as his main plan anyway.”

 

Chris bit her lip for a moment, her eyes turned out to the dark ocean and her hands flicking nervously as she spoke. “Maybe. Florence told me something, and I don’t think she wanted me to tell anyone else and she only told  _ me _ because she said I knew Hector so well but  _ you _ knew him just as well as I did and so--”

 

“Hey hey hey,” said Patty, catching Chris’s hands, “hey, slow down, what did Florence tell you?”

 

“She told me-- oh my god, your hands are  _ freezing _ ,” said Chris, letting go of Patty’s hands.

 

“Well I could have told you that,” said Patty.

 

“How long were you  _ out _ there?” said Chris, “Here, here--”

 

She pressed a button on the dash and a small, metal coffee pot slid out. Chris reached over her, fishing around in the glove compartment for a moment before she pulled out a couple paper cups.

 

“Here, it’ll warm you up,” said Chris, “even if you don’t like coffee-- which, of  _ course  _ this is great coffee that you’ll  _ totally  _ love-- you can use it to warm your hands up.”

 

“Uh, thanks,” said Patty.

 

She took a small sip. It was pretty good.

 

“This is pretty good,” said Patty.

 

Chris beamed, bright in the dark car. “Thanks, it’s my own blend, because you the crab people trying to control the government--”

 

“Put suppressing agents in regular coffee,” finished Patty. “You know…” She leaned in closer, and Chris copied the movement. “I was the one who told Hector about that.”

 

Chris gasped softly. “Ohmygod you  _ were _ ? How did you find that out?”

 

“I have my sources,” said Patty, “And you know, if just a matter of following the clues.”

 

“Right,” said Chris, nodding, “right of course.”

 

“It’s good to be working with someone who just  _ gets  _ it for once,” said Patty.

 

Chris’s cheeks flushed pink. If Patty weren’t looking at her so intently she would have missed it in the darkness of the car.

 

“Well. You know,” said Chris, “He was important. I want to help find the person responsible.”

 

“We will,” said Patty confidently, patting the back of Chris’s hand.

 

She left her hand there a fraction too long before she moved back, wrapping both hands around the coffee cup.

 

“Thanks,” said Patty, “for the coffee.”

 

Chris pressed her lips together for a moment. “There’s actually a lot more back at my apartment, if you like it.”

 

“Huh,” said Patty.

 

“I mean,” said Chris, hands fluttering again, “After we finish this, obviously. If you want. I know it takes a while to get over to the outskirts, but--”

 

“I don’t mind the travel time,” said Patty quickly.

 

“Okay,” said Chris smiling, “Okay. Cool.”

 

Patty grinned back. “Okay.”


	2. Love Letters / Devil's Bargain (Florence Slowly, No Greater Love)

_ Love Letters _

That woman is back in the precinct again. She hasn’t hassled Florence because she only seems to go after extremely wide-eyed rookies, thank god, but Florence always keeps an eye on her whenever she catches a glimpse of her around the station. She’s a investigator of some kind as far as Florence can gather, always proposing wild theories to the rookies that they have to be talked down from.

 

Florence can see her through the glass door now, the woman’s curly hair falling over her face as she leans over the young officer’s desk. Florence taps her pen on the page. She hasn’t intervened yet, despite the small whirlwind of chaos the woman seems to cause every time she enters the station. It’s none of her business really. 

 

The woman is  _ distracting _ though. Whenever she visits Florence can’t help but track her path through the station. She always seems to be just at the edge of Florence’s peripheral vision, a cackle of laughter jolting Florence’s attention away from whatever case she’s working on.

 

Another officer walks up to the desk as Florence watches, having what appears to be some stern words with the young officer. The young officer looks down, the back of their neck flushed. The woman grins, wide and disrespectful, before nodding and slowly making her way out of the precinct.

 

As she passes by Florence’s door, she waves. Florence raises her eyebrows, which only seems to delight the woman more. She tips her head back as she laughs, and Florence’s eyes trace, almost unbidden, the line of her throat.

 

There’s a letter waiting for Florence the next day, from a Patty Fink. Her writing is just as wild and brash as she was through the window, and Florence can almost hear Patty’s laugh bouncing off the page in her hands.

 

She’s been temporarily banned from the station, writes Patty, and she was going to miss the direct source of first-hand information almost as she was going to miss seeing Florence around.

 

_ But I wouldn’t have to miss you _ , says Patty,  _ if maybe, sometimes, you could pass things through to me. Then we could see each other much more other, and much more privately. _

 

Florence finishes the letter. She frowns. She puts the letter in her desk drawer. After about an hour of trying not to think about it, she sighs and takes it out again. She reads it through, folding the letter back up and tapping it against her desk.

 

She should really just throw it away.

 

\--

 

_ Devil’s Bargain _

Florence writes back.

 

She shouldn’t, really. The best thing to do would probably be to just ignore it, or pass the letter up the chain of command to get Patty permanently barred from the station. That would be the sensible thing to do.

 

Unfortunately, for all her level-headed demeanor, Florence has never been very good at  _ sensible _ .

 

Instead, she reads the letter another five or six times over the course of two days and then reaches into her bottom desk drawer where her plain, non-official stationary is, and writes back. It’s a short letter,  _ stop coming by the station, stop harassing the young officers, I don’t know who you think you are  _ etc etc etc.

 

Instead of discouraging Patty in any way, her reply is even more enthusiastic than her first letter had been. When Florence doesn’t respond to that, she sends another, and then another, and then  _ leaves a phone message _ . Florence rolls her eyes and texts a short reply.

 

_ What do you  _ want _ Patricia? _

 

_ don’t you want to be friends? _ Comes Patty’s faux-wounded reply.

 

_ I don’t think you’re asking to be  _ friends _. _

 

_ sure I am!  _

 

_ In what way are we friends. _

 

_ we help each other! _

 

_ We do not. _

 

_ but we could _

 

Florence doesn’t reply to that.

 

But she does think about it.

 

She’s looked Patty up. Patty certainly knows a lot of people, and that’s just the shortlist of the ones they’ve been able to find out about. More than that, Florence knows that Patty’s information gathering goes both ways, and that she’s more than happy to trade information. Florence brings up her file again, looking at the slightly-out-of-focus image of Patty, curly hair barely tucked behind one ear, grinning at something out of frame. 

 

She looks just like she writes. It’s a strange trait for a low-level criminal to have.

 

Florence shakes herself, and reads through Patty’s list of contacts again to try and talk herself out of things. It doesn’t work. It probably has something to do with the fact that the photo of Patty is still open on Florence’s screen.

 

_ If we were to be friends _ , texts Florence,  _ there would have to be ground rules _ .

 

_ i’m always happy to respect my friend’s boundaries _

 

Patty’s waiting for her that night, sitting on the front bonnet of Florence’s car. Florence rolls her eyes, and opens the passenger-side door for her. Florence doesn’t give her much of any information at all, but then again, Patty doesn’t ask many questions that could be considered work related.

 

She  _ does _ insist that Florence wait for her while she stops by Showdogs while she meets with some aspiring PI or other, but she also brings Florence one of their overpriced gourmet hotdogs.

 

“Is this a bribe?” says Florence.

 

Patty blinks. “It’s  _ dinner _ .” She pauses. “Did you  _ want _ a bribe?”

 

“No,” says Florence.

 

Patty shrugs, and eats her equally overpriced hotdog.

 

It’s not the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But it’s close enough to something good that Florence can’t quite bring herself to mind.


	3. Dance / Disguise (Jamil Quartz-Noble, COUNTER/weight)

_ Dance _

Patty spots Jamil from across the other side of the room. While Patty always tries to be unnoticed in her work, dark hair helping her hide in the shadows, Jamil is always striking, smiling as people turn to look at her.

 

Patty watches her for a while but if she’s waiting for someone (or, most likely, two someones) they’re certainly taking their time. Jamil orders a drink, and Patty takes the opportunity to slide onto the seat next to her, leaning forward more than she needs to to order the same.

 

Jamil raises an eyebrow at her. “Not your usual order.”

 

“I like to mix things up sometimes,” says Patty, “Helps keep people off your trail.”

 

Jamil nods, and takes a small sip of her drink. Her eyes flick towards the club’s entrance before landing back on Patty.

 

“You know I’m waiting for someone,” says Jamil.

 

“I’ll bet,” says Patty, “But I’ve been told I’m great company.”

 

Jamil laughs.

 

“A  _ work  _ someone,” says Jamil.

 

“So am I,” says Patty.

 

Jamil’s eyes narrow.

 

“I mean, probably not the same someone,” says Patty.

 

“Probably not,” says Jamil, the corner of her mouth quirking up. 

 

“Listen,” says Patty, “We’re both investigators, of a kind, here for what I’m sure are very different cases but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun, right? And you know what sources can be like with arrival times. And it would help us blend in.”

 

Jamil hesitates.

 

“Plus, I mean, tell me you  _ don’t _ want to dance to this, this is one of the all time great Aria Joie songs,” continues Patty.

 

Jamil laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

 

Patty knocks back her drink and hops off her stool, holding her hand out to Jamil. Jamil takes it, leading her into the packed dance floor. They’re pressed close in the crush of bodies. Patty can feel the bass vibrating through the soles of her shoes, guiding her rhythm as they dance. 

 

It’s dark in the club, but she’s close enough to see Jamil’s bright-eyed grin, an expression that matches her own. The sequin fabric of Jamil’s dress is hot under her hands. Jamil keeps her hands on Patty’s waist, keeping her in close, not that Patty minds.

 

She really does like this song.

 

\--

 

_ Disguise _

“You owe me for this one Fink,” says Jamil.

 

Patty can hear her tapping her foot on the tiles outside and she laughs, half at Jamil’s impatience and half out of nerves.

 

“Absolutely,” says Patty, fussing a little with her hair.

 

She stuffs her old clothes at the bottom of the half-empty garbage bag before she steps out of the storage closet. She does a turn, a little unsteady in the borrowed stilettos, because even though they’re a little pressed for time she can’t help showing off. The last time she wore a gown was when she was a girl playing dress-up with her mother’s wardrobe. Jamil wears her own gown much more comfortably.

 

“Well?” asks Patty, resisting the urge to fuss with her hair again.

 

Jamil hums, pulling something out of her bag - a delicate lace mask. “Here.”

 

“I don’t think is going to help disguise me much,”  says Patty.

 

“Everyone out there will be wearing one,” says Jamil, “You’ll stand out if you don’t. Here, I’ll help you with it.”

 

Jamil has to go up on her toes to get it on her. It would probably be easier for Patty to do it herself, but it’s hard to voice that with Jamil pressed against her, gently brushing aside her hair so the mask sits properly. Patty can feel the cool satin of Jamil’s dress press against the bare skin of her back and she shivers.

 

“Too tight?”

 

Patty clears her throat. “It’s fine.” She tilts her head to the side. “Shouldn’t you have a mask too?”

 

Jamil reaches into her purse again and holds up her own mask, a lighter design than Patty’s, but then again, it’s less of a problem if she’s recognised.

 

Patty’s hand flexes at her side. “Do you want a hand…?”

 

Jamil smiles, warm and easy, and holds the mask out to her. “Thanks.”

 

Jamil turns, letting Patty tie to mask over her eyes. Patty takes extra care not to get it caught on her hair, trailing her hands down Jamil’s shoulders as she finishes.

 

“How do I look?”

 

Patty’s heart stutters for a moment, taking in the satin against Jamil’s dark skin, the way the delicate mask gives only a glimpse of fluttered eyelashes, drawing her gaze down to Jamil’s deep purple lips.

 

“Good,” says Patty, relieved that she manages even that without her voice cracking.

 

Jamil grins and holds out her arm. “Well then Miss Phinkel?”

 

Patty slips her arm into Jamil’s, feeling a rush through her chest at the warmth of Jamil on her skin.

 

“Time to go to work.”


	4. Second Impressions / Stealing Time (Florence Slowly, No Greater Love)

_ Second Impressions _

Florence’s doorbell rings. It’s the fifth time it’s rang in quick succession and Florence is trying her best to ignore it. She’s _retired_. She doesn’t have to answer the doorbell.

 

It rings again. And again. And again, except this time the person doesn’t lift their finger. The bell rings in a grating loop.

 

“Retirement is supposed to be  _ relaxing _ ,” mutters Florence, setting aside her book and pulling herself up from the couch.

 

She looks through the peephole and lets out an annoyed breath. Patty Fink. Of course it is.

 

Patty's face is serious through the peephole, frowning as she leans on the doorbell. They haven't seen each other since Florence handed in her badge and gun. She wonders what desperate search for information has brought Patty to her doorstep. 

 

Florence opens the door and Patty immediately jumps back, putting her hands behind her back, as though anyone else could have been ringing the doorbell. 

 

“What do you want Ms Fink?”

 

“Florence! Great to see you too! Do you have a minute? I mean, of course you do, you’re retired, you’ve got nothing but minutes,” says Patty. She laughs. “No excuse for running out on conversations with me now!”

 

“I have never  _ run out _ on a conversation with you,” says Florence.

 

Patty pats Florence’s hand and steps past Florence, inside. Florence blinks, then takes a long breath in. She closes the door behind them, following Patty inside.

 

“So what’cha been up to? How’s the quiet life treating you?” says Patty.

 

She seems to be heading to the kitchen, navigating with purpose despite never having been in Florence's house before. Florence runs a hand through her hair and follows.

 

“I’ve only been retired one week,” says Florence.

 

Patty nods. “Yeah, that’s why you’re my first stop.”

 

“Your first… oh no,” says Florence, “I’m out of the game now, you’ll have to find a new source to pester.”

 

“But  _ Florence _ ,” says Patty, hopping up on Florence’s kitchen counter, “I don’t  _ want _ to find a new source.”

 

Florence steps forward and tugs Patty down. Patty follows with surprisingly little resistance, not pulling her hands from Florence’s gip, not stepping away from her. Their faces are very close, close enough that Florence can feel Patty’s small exhale on her lips.

 

“I like having  _ you _ as a source,” says Patty, voice soft.

 

“I don’t know how much information I’ll be able to give you,” says Florence, “I’m not exactly connected.”

 

“I don’t mind about that,” says Patty, “You’ve got a good mind, that’s a good quality in a source.”

 

Florence can feel Patty’s wrist flex in her grip and she lets go. Patty doesn’t step back. She doesn’t look away from Florence’s face either, eyes wide.

 

Florence sighs, steps back. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

 

“Oh.” Patty’s hands flutter in the small space between them. “I don’t have any. Not right now anyway.”

 

“You came all the way out here to ask me… nothing?”

 

Patty makes a face. “Not  _ nothing _ , more like I’m… just checking in to see if I  _ can _ ask something in the future.”

 

“Well...” says Florence, and then shuts her mouth, because she’s not quite sure what to say to that. 

 

Patty always had had a way of putting her off balance, although if Florence is being honest she rather thought her days of being put off balance by Patty were over. 

 

Patty rocks back and forth on her heels for a moment. “So. Thanks for still being a source.”

 

She holds out her hand. Florence blinks down at it, then shakes it. 

 

“No problem.”

 

Patty opens her mouth. Then closes it again. “I. Um. Look forward to our continued work partnership.”

 

"We've never been partners."

 

“No,” says Patty, “but we could have been.”

 

“No we couldn't,” says Florence, “You would have made a  _ terrible  _ police officer.”

 

Patty makes a face. “Not like  _ that,  _ I mean… I mean…”

 

“I might be retired, but I don't have all day Fink.”

 

Lightning fast, Patty leans forward to press a kiss to Florence’s lips. It’s chaste and warm and gone almost as soon as it’s begun. 

 

Patty's eyes are very wide as she pulls back. “I, um. Partners like that.”

 

“What,” says Florence faintly. 

 

“I kind of, um.” Patty bites her lip. “Didn't think you'd let me do that. So."

 

She lets go of Florence’s hand stepping back and away and out of the kitchen.

 

“Bye Florence!”

 

The door slams.

 

Florence stands in the kitchen of her very quiet house. She presses her lips together, touching them with the tips of her fingers, feeling the lingering warm of Patty’s lips on hers for a long moment before she moves.

 

Right. If she's going to continue to be an information source, she should organise her resources. The  _ partner  _ part of it, well, she'll… 

 

She'll work that out the next time Patty Fink barges her way into her house. 

 

\--

 

_ Stealing Time _

Florence keeps her eyes trained on the door, where it's partially hidden the shadow of the alleyway. She can see her watch out of the corner of her eye. She's been here for an hour, which in stakeout terms isn't really that long, well within the parameters of her source’s information being correct. 

 

The passenger door clicks open. Florence swings the pistol in her lap around and the person yelps, holding up both hands. 

 

“Hey, it's just me,” says Patty. 

 

Florence sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What are you  _ doing _ here?”

 

“I thought you could use the company,” says Patty, as though it's obvious, “I brought coffee.”

 

She has two take-away cups from an upscale place along the boardwalk. 

 

Florence eyes the cups critically. “That place has been closed for over three hours.”

 

“I had a private meeting there just now,” says Patty. 

 

“They let you do take-away from a private meeting?”

 

“Listen if you don't  _ want  _ the coffee, I'll take it.”

 

Florence sighs. “Fine.”

 

She takes a sip. It's still warm. 

 

Patty leans over while Florence is distracted, grabbing the binoculars from the dashboard. 

 

“So who are we on the lookout for?”

 

“ _ I  _ am waiting for Councillor Huston.  _ You  _ are not on the lookout for anyone.”

 

“Aw c’mon,” says Patty, refocusing the binoculars, “I'm here to help.”

 

“I do not believe I asked for your help.”

 

“You didn't have to,” says Patty, waving a hand, “that's just what friends are for.”

 

Florence's hums. “And what exactly did you want in exchange for your  _ friendship _ this time?”

 

“Nah, we're good,” says Patty, her gaze still on the alleyway. “You can just owe me one.”

 

“I will not,” says Florence. 

 

“Half of one then,” says Patty. 

 

Florence sighs, and takes another sip of her coffee. Her gaze drifts from the alleyway to the woman beside her. She watches Patty's profile, illuminated by the distant neon of the boardwalk. Patty's face is still and serious, a focussed point towards the alleyway. Her hands flex on the binoculars, adjusting her grip. 

 

Florence sets her coffee neatly in the cupholder. “Patricia.”

 

Patty frowns, lowering the binoculars to her lap. “What?”

 

Florence gives her a look. 

 

“I just thought you'd want a break!”

 

“Patty--”

 

“And I know you're more of a lone gunwoman type, but you know there's nothing wrong with company--”

 

“ _ Patty _ \--”

 

“Plus It's not like I'm a rookie you'd have to train, I have literal  _ years _ of experience with this sort of stuff!”

 

Florence reach out and puts one of her hands over Patty's. “Patty.”

 

Patty swallows. “Yeah?”

 

“You understand that this is a surprise,” says Florence, “I haven't seen you since you… visited me.”

 

Even in the dim light, Florence can see Patty's blush. “Oh. Yeah. Um. About that.”

 

“We don't have to talk about it,” says Florence. 

 

Patty looks down. “Right.”

 

“But you should feel free to do it again, if you like,” continues Florence. 

 

She looks over the the alleyway but she can feel Patty's eyes on her. 

 

“What?”

 

“You heard what I said,” says Florence, keeping her voice steady. 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Patty bite her lip, her hands fidgeting with the binoculars in her lap. 

 

“Hand me those?” says Florence.

 

She turns a little towards Patty, keeping her gaze on the alleyway even as her attention wanders back to the passenger seat, and holds out her hand. When Patty doesn't move, she looks towards her, flexing her outstretched hand. Patty wordlessly places the binoculars in her palm. She swallows. 

 

“Thank you,” says Florence. 

 

“No problem,” says Patty, “Um.”

 

She leans forward slightly towards Florence, and Florence feels the pull of it. It's the easiest thing in the world to slide her hand into Patty's curls, guiding Patty's towards her. Patty opens under her easily, her hands flutters around Florence's shoulders before settling warmly at her sides. She presses forward, as close as she can with the gear stick in the way, and Florence lets her, the warmth of Patty's kiss spreading through her. Patty makes a soft sound into Florence's mouth, and Florence pulls her closer.

 

There's a  _ slam  _ from the alleyway and Florence pulls back, turning her eyes back towards the alleyway. Patty follows her motion, her lips landing instead on Florence's neck. 

 

“Patty, the  _ ah _ \-- the Councillor's here,” says Florence, her voice losing its steadiness. 

 

“He can wait his turn,” Patty against her neck, her hands sliding up Florence's sides. 

 

“ _ Patty,”  _ says Florence, not as stern as she'd like but stern enough to get Patty's attention. 

 

“Oh,” says Patty, booking up at her, “I guess you've gotta go to work now huh?”

 

Florence nods. She puts a hand on the door handle and pauses, looking back at Patty. 

 

“Stay in the car. We'll continue this discussion when I get back.”

 

“What discuss--  _ oohh  _ right, our  _ discussion _ .” Patty winks. “You got it.”

 

Florence huffs a breath of something that might be a laugh, before she pushes open the door. She has a suspect to catch. 

 

And then she has an important meeting to finish


	5. Hands (Aqua Illusion/Erika Rizzo, The Grapplers Down at Promenade Arena) / Swords (Seayonce, the Cost of Greed)

_Hands_

Patty's been lots of places for information, but the changing room of the The Promenade Arena isn't one of them. There's a sign stuck to the door in yellowing laminated paper that says _PRIVATE: Wrestling Staff Only_. Patty pauses, takes a photo of the sign with her phone, and pushes right on through. All signs are propaganda anyway.

 

It's quiet inside - the show finished hours ago, the crowds and sweaty performers long gone. Patty heads to Count Falstaff's locker.

 

The sound of another locker creaking shut makes her pause, stepping close to the wall of lockers and touching her fingers to the container of home-brew pepper spray in her jacket pocket. Patty holds her breath, her whole focus on listening. Footsteps, coming closer, heading to the exit.

 

Aqua Illusion brushes past her, dressed in street clothes but unmistakably unearthly to Patty's eyes. Plus she's wearing her custom jacket, the netting glinting in the dim lighting. Patty lets out a long breath. The mysterious forces of the deep must have given Aqua Illusion superhearing, because she spins around, looking startled as she locks eyes with Patty.

 

“What-- uh, sorry, I didn't realise anyone was still here, or I would have… wait, no one else is supposed to be here,” says Aqua Illusion, “who are you?”

 

“A seeker of truth,” says Patty.

 

Aqua Illusion gives her a strange look. “Uh. Okay. We're still closed though, and I don't think we're supposed to let fans hang out back here so--”

 

“I'm not a _fan,”_ says Patty, “I'm _investigating_ . I'm gathering _facts_.”

 

“By… breaking into our locker room?” says Aqua Illusion, “What exactly are you _investigating_?”

 

Patty hesitates for a moment. Aqua Illusion _is_ one of the good guys but you never knew with mysterious ocean creatures.

 

“I'm uh,” Aqua Illusion steps back, towards the door, “I'm going to call security?”

 

“Wait! Wait, wait, okay,” says Patty, “normally I don't just give these tips away for _free_ , but if you're going to call _security_ …” she lowers her voice, glancing around them to assure herself they're alone. “It's about Count Falstaff.”

 

Aqua Illusion’s face changes from suspicious to concerned and she steps forward. “What about him?”

 

“The new crew he's joined up with, Monster House?”

 

Aqua Illusion nods.

 

“And you know how the sasquatches are known to have infiltrated the banks?”

 

Aqua Illusion starts to nod, then makes a face. “Wait, what?”

 

“I mean, before, Monster House was small time do it was easy to keep an eye on it, but now that they're getting more play I want to make sure that Sasquatch isn't using Count Falstaff's vampiric thrall to control the banks of Bluff City,” finishes Patty.

 

“You… what?” says Aqua Illusion.

 

“Oh, right,” says Patty, “I guess they don't have that under the sea. Makes sense, sasquatches can't breathe underwater.”

 

“Under--wait,” says Aqua Illusion, “You know he's not really a sasquatch, right?”

 

Patty's eyes widen. “Then what is he?”

 

“He's like… a guy. A wrestler guy, the same as me.”

 

“A selkie?”

 

“A--hey I thought you said you weren't a fan!”

 

“I'm not,” says Patty, “I'm just in the business of knowing things.”

 

“Right,” says Aqua Illusion, “Well, uh… you can take it from me, he's not doing any nefarious, uh, bank stuff. And I would know, I mean, our lockers are right across from each other.”

 

“How do I know you're not just being vampire thrilled into saying that?”

 

“Vampire…” Aqua Illusion lets out a breath, “Wow, you should really be on our writing team, this is a way better storyline than what he has now. Listen, Patty, I know you're probably not going to believe me when I say this, but… Count Falstaff isn't really a vampire. He's just a guy who dresses up like one to wrestle.”

 

“But I've seen he use his thrall!”

 

“That's just props!”

 

“I saw him _fly_!”

 

“He's good off the top rope, but he can't _fly_.”

 

“He did though,” says Patty, because she _knows_ what she saw.

 

“Anyone can do that,” says Aqua Illusion, “I could do that.”

 

“No you can't,” says Patty, “your powers are water based.”

 

Aqua Illusion runs a hand over her face. “I don't--okay. Come with me, come on.”

 

She leads Patty out to the area, where the smell of stale beer and sweat still hangs in the air from the night’s show. She shrugs out of her jacket, throwing it over one of the seats before pulling herself up and into the ring.

 

“Okay,” says Aqua Illusion, “I’m gonna show you this, and then _you_ ,” she points at Patty, “are gonna believe me.”

 

Patty folds her arms over her chest. “So show me.”

 

Aqua Illusion climbs onto the top rope, her movements steady. “I _will_ , just _watch_.”

 

She leaps in a fast and practised motion, flipping in the air before landing on one knee. It’s not _exactly_ the same as Count Falstaff’s move, but Patty can maybe see her point.

 

“It’s just a show,” say Aqua Illusion, “see? So no ones involved in any weird banking conspiracies.” She pauses. “Well, okay, they might be, but not because they’re part of a sasquatch-based conspiracy.”

 

Patty lets out a long breath. “Maybe. Can I see it again?”

 

Aqua Illusion shrugs, climbs back up and does it again. She makes it look easy, and Patty tells her so.

 

Aqua Illusion laughs, her cheeks flushed a light pink. “It’s all practise, anyone can get good with practise.”

 

“Can you teach me?”

 

Aqua Illusion blinks. “Uh. Maybe not _that_ particular move but-- sure. If you want.”

 

Patty throws her coat over Aqua Illusion’s and clambers up into the ring. It’s more difficult than it looks, pulling herself up with the ropes. It doesn’t feel as high as she’d always thought it would either.

 

“Oh, you mean right now?”

 

“Why not?” says Patty.

 

Aqua Illusion huffs a laugh. “Right.” She claps her hands together. “So. The basics.”

 

They run through a couple things - Patty doesn’t have a _complete_ grasp on them, but most are close enough to the self-defense she knows not to feel completely alien to her. Aqua Illusion guides her movement, her hands steady and warm through Patty's clothes.

 

They put the moves in an order, going through a match in slow motion. It’s not exciting, not really, but she does feel a thrill in the pit of her stomach to see Aqua Illusion demonstrate the move fast before she helps guide Patty into position.

 

Patty slaps Aqua Illusion’s arm, and Aqua Illusion lets her out of the loose choke-hold she had Patty in, grinning as she looks down her, one hand braced by Patty’s head on the mat. The lights are haloed above her, turning her hair gold at the edges.

 

“Wait,” says Patty, “If you’re not really a selkie, who are you?”

 

Aqua Illusion laughs. “Erika Rizzo. I’m an artist.”

 

“I’m Patty.”

 

Erika leans back and Patty follows her motion, sitting up to mirror her.

 

Erika rubs the back of her neck. “I guess it probably seems kind of silly, but it’s a lot of fun, and it pays the bills.”

 

“I don’t think it sounds silly,” says Patty.

 

Erika tilts her head, looking over at her. “I guess you wouldn’t.” She lets out a breath, looking back out into the darkened seats. “We should probably get going before they notice the lights on and call the cops.”

 

“We could just turn the lights out,” says Patty.

 

Erika huffs a laugh. “You can’t really wrestle with the lights out.”

 

“Not this kind of wrestling maybe,” says Patty, speaking before her mind entirely catches up to what she's saying.

 

Erika raises her eyebrows at her. “What kind did you have in mind?”

 

The air hangs between them for a moment. Erika leans forward, just a little, just enough to put Patty's mouth ahead of her brain again.

 

Patty grins. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

 

She tangles her fingers in the front of Erika’s tshirt, pulling Erika forward. She has to duck her head a little to get the angle right, and then Erika makes a pleased sound, returning her kiss enthusiastically, letting Patty guide her down onto the mat, letting Patty climb onto her lap to straddle her.

 

Erika slides a hand underneath Patty’s top and Patty grinds her hips down against Erika's and Erika moans, her nails digging into Patty’s skin. Patty shudders, feeling heat pool in the pit of her stomach. She kisses a trail down Erika’s neck, pulling at the neck of Erika’s tshirt and lighting tracing her lips over the wrestling bruises there. Erika gasps, arching up into Patty's touch.

 

The sound of a car racing past statles them both. Erika presses her lips together, her hands still warm on Patty’s back.

 

“We should probably get out of here,” says Patty.

 

“Right,” says Erika.

 

“I live downtown but traffics not so bad this time of night,” continues Patty.

 

Erika grins. “Is that so?”

 

“Yeah,” says Patty, ‘if you wanna…?”

 

“If I wanna what?” says Erika, tone teasing.

 

Patty leans forward, ghosting her lips over Erika’s. “If you want me to continue this demonstration.”

 

She can feel Erika’s shaky exhale on her lips.

 

“Sure,” says Erika, “I think I’ve almost got it, but I could use going through it a couple of times.”

 

\--

 

_Swords_

Patty had heard, somewhere, that you were supposed to bring creatures like selkies gifts when you asked them a favour. In that way, they were much like the other sources Patty went to for information. She’d had to do quite a few favours in order to get what felt like an appropriate gift: an ornate sword, too delicate to probably be any good as a weapon but pretty enough that it seemed like a good choice for a gift.

 

Patty lugged it down, down, down, past where the cave tour point stopped, past where the man-made stairs gave way to uneven cave floor, the thin beam of her torch aimed at the path right in front of her feet. Distantly, she could hear the roar of the ocean above her, or maybe the distant sound of traffic. This far underground, it was difficult to know whereabouts in Bluff City she was.

 

She kept going until she reached the underground pool that her source had described. A blue-green light shone under the surface, throwing strange shadows onto the cave’s roof. Patty set down the sword at the water’s edge, quickly stepping back. She’d tried to look it up, but there didn’t seem to be any hard and fast rules for summoning the selkie. She’d just have to hope the gift was enough.

 

Nothing happened. The pool was still, the only faint ripples from the occasional water drip from the cave’s roof. Patty checked her watch: five minutes. Maybe there _was_ a summoning rule. Maybe her source was just wrong about there being a selkie in this location. She should really have asked Alexa, Patty was pretty sure she’d met a selkie once.

 

Patty sighed, and stepped back towards the sword. The water lapped at her feet as she picked it up. Patty frowned down at her feet for a moment, then looked up across the water. There were more ripples now, spreading outwards from the centre. She stepped back hurriedly, and the movement in the water stopped.

 

 _Oh_ , thought Patty, _so that’s how it is._

 

She considered the water. Despite the light from within it, it was impossible to tell how deep it was. She’d come on a day with no scheduled tour groups, although she was so deep underground now that it might not have made a difference. It wasn’t like there was any cell service either.

 

Well. It certainly wouldn’t be the most dangerous thing she’d ever done to get information.

 

Patty took a deep breath and let it out slowly, stepping forward again, cold water rushing into her shoes. The rippling of the water began again, the small waves growing stronger as she stepped forwards. Carefully, she moved until the water was almost at her waist, waves splashing up at her chest.

 

Patty held the sword out, trying for the least threatening way possible. “This is kind of as far out as I’m willing to go without knowing if someone else is out here.”

 

The waves move violently, swirling to form a whirlpool, exposing a rock formation beneath them. A woman appeared behind it, walking towards Patty, the swirling water clearing a path for her. She was tall, taller than Patty, kelp strands braided through her curling hair and her dress trailing behind her, melting into the water.

 

The selkie.

 

Patty swallowed. “I want information on Blough City. I was told you could give it to me.”

 

“Perhaps,” said the selkie.

 

Her voice echoed off the walls in strange ways, repeating in Patty’s ears clearer with each iteration, ringing inside her head.

 

“I was told that you want stuff in trade for it,” said Patty, holding out the sword.

 

The selkie took the sword from her hands, looking at it for a moment before she drove it into the stone beside her.

 

“I have seen many swords in my life,” said the selkie, “I require something more personal.”

 

Patty thought for a moment. _Personal_.

 

“How about a kiss?”

 

A strange look flitted over the selkie’s face, the corners of her lips quirking up in amusement. “It usually takes people longer to reach for that.”

 

“Well I’m a very fast thinker,” said Patty.

 

The corners of the selkie’s lips turned up a little more, into something approaching a genuine smile. It was warm, and it would have made Patty relax a lot more if the selkie’s teeth weren’t so sharp.

 

“Very well,” said the selkie, holding out a hand, “I accept.”

 

Patty took her hand and stepped forwards, out of the water and onto the rocks. The selkie’s hand was cold, softer than Patty had been expecting. With her other hand, the selkie tilted Patty’s face up towards hers. Patty took a breath, breathing in the smell of salty sea air.

 

The selkie’s lips were just as cold as her hands, and just as soft. Patty forgot herself -- the danger, the water, the sharp, sharp teeth -- pressing closer to the selkie, or trying to. The selkie hummed, deepening the kiss enough to draw a whine from Patty before she leant back. The selkie smiled, cupping Patty’s cheek in her hand.

 

“That is sufficient,” said the selkie, “what is it that you wish to know?”

 

Patty blinked up at her, her thoughts sliding away as she tried to form something other than leaning back into the selkie’s embrace. Right. Information. Blough City.

 

“Can I ask more than one question?”

 

“I will require a trade for each question,” said the selkie.

  
Patty let out a breath. “ _Definitely_ not a problem."


	6. Play in the Dark (Adaire Ducarte, Seasons of Hieron) / Love's First Explosion (Aria Joie, COUNTER/weight)

_Play in the Dark_

Bluff City can be a little strange sometimes. You walk through the door that’s supposed to have the meeting that you set up with an anonymous person, and instead of leading to a shitty motel room like it’s supposed to it leads to what looks like a dimly lit but very cosy weirdly themed hotel room, with a very angry woman holding a dagger (a _dagger_!) towards you.

 

Patty holds up her hands. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa!”

 

“Who are you,” says the woman, “And how did you even get _in_ here?”

 

“I’m Patty and, look, _obviously_ I _meant_ to go through a different door than this.” Patty takes another look at her. “Unless you’re my anonymous source?”

 

The woman is short, dressed in a heavily-embroidered skirt and top, with a snow-speckled cloak draped over her shoulders. Her hair is similarly snow-speckled, tied up in a complicated-looking braid. She doesn’t _look_ like Patty’s usual anonymous sources. And also, it’s not snowing in Bluff City today.

 

The woman frowns. “Anonymous source?”

 

“Right, obviously not,” says Patty, turning back towards the door, “So I’ll just go--”

 

The door is locked.

 

“Hey,” says Patty, “this door is locked!”

 

“That’s why I asked you how you got in here,’ says the woman.

 

Her voice sounds closer. Uh oh.

 

Patty turns around. She _is_ closer. So is her dagger.

 

Uh oh.

 

“I swear, I don’t know anymore about this than you do!” says Patty, “I just opened a door and then I was here! Wherever that is.”

 

Something flickers across the woman’s face. “There’s a lot of that going around lately.”

 

“Well, good, then you get help me get into the room I’m supposed to be in,” says Patty.

 

“What, no I can’t,” says the woman, “I’m not a pattern magician.”

 

“Well neither am I!” says Patty, even though she’s not really sure what that is.

 

“If you’re not a pattern magician then what are you?”

 

“An investigator,” says Patty, because that’s close enough.

 

The woman’s eyes narrow. “An investigator huh? What are you investigating?”

 

“Right now? Lots of stuff,” says Patty, “A murder, specifically.”

 

The woman huffs a laugh. “A lot of that going around too.”

 

Patty looks the woman over. She doesn’t look much like any investigator she’s ever seen around Bluff City, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t be an out of towner.

 

“You too huh?”

 

“Maybe,” says the woman, “depends who’s asking.”

 

“Patty Fink,” says Patty, “who’s answering.”

 

The woman pauses. “Adaire Ducarte.”

 

Definitely a fake name, but, hey, it’s not like _Patty Fink_ is really her name either so who is she to judge? Plus, Adaire _is_ still holding a dagger.

 

“So, Ms Ducarte--”

 

Adaire gives her a cold look. “I prefer Adaire.”

 

Patty holds up her hands. “Hey, sorry. _Adaire_ , since we’re both investigating the same crime--”

 

Adaire’s eyes narrow. “How do _you_ know it’s the same crime?”

 

Patty nods. “Fair point. Hmm. Okay, how about… on the count of three we both say the name of the person who’s murder we’re investigating.”

 

“That’s stupid,” says Adaire, “Why don’t we just tell each other?”

 

“Okay,” says Patty, “You go first.”

 

Adaire pauses. “Fine. On the count of three. One…

 

“Two,” says Patty.

 

“Three,” says Adaire, “Chancellor Lutz.”

 

“Hector Who,” says Patty at the same time. “Oh.”

 

“Who’s Hector Who?” asks Adaire. She makes a face at the phrasing.

 

“You know, the radio presenter.”

 

“The _what_ presentor?”

 

“The… radio presenter?

 

“Yeah, that's not really any clearer,” says Adaire.

 

“I mean, I know he's maybe not super well-known outside of Bluff City but-- wait, Chancellor Lutz?”

 

“Yeah. Why,” says Adaire, her eyes narrowing, “you know him?”

 

“No,” says Patty, “I don't. Which is weird, because I thought I knew everyone on the council.”

 

“Well you know what Rosemerrow’s like,” says Adaire, waving a hand, “it feels like half the population's on some kind of council.”

 

Patty frowns. “What’s Rosemerrow?”

 

“It's… where we are now,” says Adaire. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

She lowers her dagger and takes a step forward. Patty takes a reflexive step backwards.

 

Adaire huffs. “Relax, I'm a doctor. Just trying to help.”

 

“Right,” says Patty, “All doctors carry daggers, totally normal.”

 

“Okay, you got me, I'm not _technically_ a doctor,” says Adaire, “but I used to be one.”

 

“Oh sure,” says Patty.

 

She means to say something else, something very clever and cutting for sure, but she gets distracted by the flurry of snow outside her window. It's dark outside, but she can just make out a forest outside. There's no forest near Bluff City. And even if there was, it wouldn’t be lit by _two_ moons.

 

Adaire puts a hand on her arm and Patty flinches.

 

“Maybe you should sit down,” says Adaire.

 

It's not really a suggestion -- Adaire guides her careful to sit down on the edge of the bed, her hands steady and warm on Patty's arm. She puts the back of her hand to Patty's forehead, humming thoughtfully.

 

“What's the verdict doc?”

 

Adaire hums again. “Where is it that you think you are right now?”

 

“Well, until like a minute ago I was in Bluff City,” says Patty, “and then I opened the door and then someone was pointing a dagger at me.”

 

“These are dangerous times.”

 

“Yeah, because people keeping pointing their daggers at other people!”

 

“I put it away,” says Adaire calmly.

 

“Still!” says Patty, her hands making a wide gesture.

 

Adaire takes one of Patty's wrists and starts taking her pulse. Patty's foot twitches. She was never very good at staying still enough for doctors visits.

 

“Well?” says Patty.

 

“It's very jumpy,” says Adaire, “take some deep breaths, tell me about who you were supposed to be meeting with.”

 

“I told you, an anonymous source,” says Patty, “I don't know who they were, only that they might know something about this whole Bough City thing, they said something about other worlds and unheard of transport, but I kind of thought they meant like, y’know, outer space stuff, not… whatever this is.”

 

“And you were thinking about this when you went through the door?”

 

“Yeah,” says Patty.

 

“Right,” says Adaire, “so, I'm not an expert, but the first step to undoing something is to figure out what you did in the first place.”

 

“I just _told_ you!”

 

Adaire lets go of her wrist and steps away towards the door. Patty follows her.

 

“So,” says Adaire, “you were thinking about this anonymous source person, and then you opened the door.”

 

Patty gives her a look. “Yeah... ?”

 

“So,” says Adaire, “recreate it.”

 

Patty makes a face. “Okay.”

 

She takes a deep breath. She thinks about the email she got from a burner email account. She puts her hand on the door handle and tries to turn it.

 

“It's locked.”

 

Adaire makes a small frustrated noise. “Hmm, what about… okay. Maybe you don't need to be thinking of something, maybe you need… you need the opposite.”

 

“I need to think about non-anonymous sources?”

 

Adaire huffs a breath. “No, you need to clear your mind. Have you ever done any form of meditation?”

 

“I've tried it,” says Patty, “I'm not great at thinking of nothing though, I've got a lot of thoughts going on.”

 

Adaire looks thoughtful. “I have a good method for this actually.”

 

She reaches up and puts her hand on Patty shoulder. Patty looks down at her. She's standing a lot closer than Patty remembers.

 

“A method?” says Patty.

 

“Mmm,” says Adaire, “I have a… a friend who I help out with this sort of thing on occasion, when things are especially complicated for her.”

 

“Oh?” says Patty. “Ohh, wait, like-- yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

Adaire slides her hand to the back of Patty's neck, pulling her down for their lips to meet. Adaire's lips are soft and warm. All of her feels soft and warm, where she's pressed against Patty. The hand Patty doesn't have on the door handle goes to Adaire's waist, sliding down her back. Adaire makes a pleased sound into Patty's mouth, and Patty chases the feeling that sounds stirs within her, focuses on it until it eclipses everything else.

 

The door’s lock clicks open.

 

Patty looks up sharply. She looks at Adaire, then down at her hand of the door handle. It turns easily, bribing with it the smell of sea air and highway fumes - the smell of Bluff City, the smell of home.

 

“Whoa,” says Patty.

 

“I, um,” Adaire clears her throat. “You're welcome.”

 

“Yeah,” breathes Patty. She shakes herself. “I uh. Thanks?”

 

Adaire nods, peering curiously out at the dingy street lamps.

 

“I guess I'd better…” says Patty.

 

“Yeah,” says Adaire.

 

Patty turns back before Adaire closes the door. “Hey. If you ever step through a door and find yourself in Bluff City, look me up.”

 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out one of her crumpled business cards. A smile flickers over Adaire's face as she takes it.

 

“I will,” says Adaire, “you do owe me one, after all.”

 

Patty has time to let out a laugh before the door closes fully.

 

She tries the door after, obviously, but it opens onto the shity Bluff City motel room that it's supposed to.

 

Rosemerrow. Huh. She'll have to look into this.

 

\--

 

_Love’s First Explosion_

Patty initially sought out Aria Joie for her rumoured burgeoning political involvement, and when Aria didn't want to talk about that, she tried to talk about Aria's music, and when she didn't want to talk about _that_ Party asked if she wanted to make out, because why the fuck not.

 

That, it turned out, Aria _did_ want to do.

 

Patty wasn't surprised. Aria was extremely good at it. Patty bit her lip to stop sound escaping from her, not that it could really be heard over the thumping base of the club, some Lazer Ted remix she doesn't really know.

 

Aria is even prettier in person than she is in her mesh performances, all glitter and fluttering eyelashes, her hot pink lipstick smeared a little from Patty's mouth. It's a breathtaking sight.

 

Patty whines as Aria drags her fingertips over her in time to the beat, too many layers of clothing in the way to give more than a whisper of sensation. She feels Aria smile against her neck and she tugs Aria back so she can kiss her. Aria follows without resistance, humming, pleased, against Patty's lips.

 

The beat changes, the song melding into a different one. An Aria Joie classic track.

 

“Oh,” breathes Patty against Aria's lips, “I like this song.”

 

Aria huffs a laugh, her tone warm and teasing. “I bet you say that to all the pop stars you meet.”

 

“You're the first one I've met,” says Patty, “but if it gets me this kind of treatment, I'm definitely going to keep using it as a line.”

 

Aria giggles, pressing a light kiss to Patty's lips before kissing down her jaw. Patty feels as though her skin is burning up under Aria's touch.

 

“Not to hit you with two lines in a row,” says Patty, “but did you want to get out of here?”

 

Aria grins. “Not to use a line back at you, but I thought you'd never ask.”


	7. Promises / Keepsakes (Florence Slowly, No Greater Love)

_ Promises _

Florence isn’t good at sustaining emotional connections. It’s not something she does on  _ purpose  _ necessarily, it’s just that other things tend to take priority and relationships tend to slip away before Florence notices. It’s something she’s come to accept.

 

Patty is, apparently, the opposite. It feels as though she’s always around somewhere, if not in person then in the form of a postcard hand-delivered to Florence while she’s working, or in the twenty texts waiting for Florence the next time she looks at her phone. Florence replies, when she can, because it would feel rude not to and also… also she quite likes that sometimes she gets home after a long workday and there’s a letter from Patty waiting for her.

 

She’s still not  _ quite _ sure how she feels about Patty being in her house without her there. Especially as she has yet to actually give Patty a key.

 

Still. It seems cruel to wake her.

 

Florence leans her hip on the doorway to her bedroom, her body shielding Patty’s face from the hallway light. She’s fast asleep, clothes and shoes in a tangled pile beside the bed. From the looks of it she’s borrowed one of Florence’s shirts to sleep in again, some souvenir t-shirt someone bought her as a joke when she was still on the force. 

 

Florence breathes out slowly, trying to ease the strange tightness in her chest. She closes the door carefully, moving quietly through the house as she puts away her things and gets ready for bed. She notes, almost absentmindedly, that Patty’s done the dishes, and that she must have brought groceries with her when she broke in (Florence certainly doesn’t remember buying milk or any kind of vegetables recently).

 

Patty’s still sleeping when she eases the door open, trying to be as quiet as possible. It’s dark but Florence is used to navigating the space, even with Patty’s things scattered around. She carefully slips into bed, looking up at the ceiling, careful not to bump Patty.

 

Patty, always contrary to what Florence is attempting to do, makes a sleepy noise and turns over to face her, immediately slinging her arm and leg over Florence and pulling her in close.

 

“Hi,” mumbles Patty, from where her face is pressed into Florence’s shoulder, “You’re home late.”

 

“You’re not supposed to be home at all,” says Florence.

 

She cards her hand through Patty’s hair and she feels Patty smile against her shoulder.

 

“Then you should get better locks,” says Patty, “or even--” she yawns, “--even like, any kind of security system.”

 

“Go to sleep,” says Florence.

 

She’s not going to change the locks on Patty and they both know it. If she ever did, Patty would just find some other way in, so really it’s easier for Florence to just keep things as they are.

 

She lets her hand rest of Patty’s side and Patty’s breathing evens out, back into sleep. After she’s sure,  _ really _ sure that Patty’s out, she looks over, tracing the lines of Patty’s face in the darkness.

 

“I don’t mind that you’re here,” says Florence softly, “I quite like coming home to you actually.”

 

Patty doesn’t respond, just the deep, even breaths of sleep. Florence presses a kiss to the top of her head, and lets herself relax back into the bed.

 

\--

 

_ Keepsakes  _

Patty is digging through Florence’s desk when she finds it. She still goes through Florence’s stuff occasionally. There’s not usually a lot that’s surprising to find - Patty’s at Florence’s place so much that keeping her own lease is becoming more pointless by the day - but she still likes to, and if Florence is annoyed by it she hasn’t  _ said _ anything.

 

She doesn’t normally spend that long in Florence’s study unless they’re working on a case together (or, more often, if Patty is trying to annoy Florence into letting her work the case  _ with _ her), so she usually only gives the top two drawers a cursory once over before she moves on.

 

Today, she’s bored, so she opens the bottom drawer - and then she is  _ extremely _ not bored anymore.

 

In the bottom drawer are letters.  _ Her  _ letters. To  _ Florence _ .

 

_ Don’t you want to work together _ ? says the Patty in the letters,  _ don’t you want to be friends _ ?

 

Patty has a sudden, vivid memory of writing them, sometimes carefully choosing the wording and sometimes extremely not and giving herself away. Reading over the letters, she remembers feeling like she was being extremely subtle. Patty groans and rubs her face. The Patty in the letters is  _ not _ very subtle.

 

She reads through the letters, sitting on the floor of Florence’s office and remembering Florence’s reply to this or getting some scrap of information from that one, all the small moments of Florence’s time Patty had gathered up and held close to her.

 

It’s not really until she finishes the last letter in the pile that she comes to the realisation that the letters being here, in Florence’s office, means that Florence chose to keep them. She sits back down on the floor and stares down and the pile of letters in the drawer, letters that would have been carried from the police station to here, letters that Florence never threw out.

 

She scrambles up as she hears Florence’s car pull into the driveway, slamming the drawer shut and moving quickly to the kitchen. She hops up on the counter, trying to effect a casual air.

 

“Hi Florence!” calls Patty, as she hears the door open.

 

She hears the familiar soft  _ thunk-thunk _ of Florence toeing off her shoes before Florence pads down the hallway to the kitchen. She huffs a breath when she sees Patty.

 

“Off.”

 

Patty grins at her. “Make me.”

 

Florence huffs again, but this time it’s accompanied by a smile as she steps towards Patty. She reaches for Patty’s waist, pulling her off the counter, just as she has a hundred times on a hundred other afternoons. 

 

“Made you,” says Florence, her tone teasing.

 

Florence is standing close but not  _ quite _ touching her, keeping Patty fixed between the counter and her body. This, too, she has done a hundred times on a hundred other afternoons, only this particular afternoon Patty’s head are full of her own letters.

 

The her from those letters wanted so much to be in this position. Not just pinned to the counter (although, yes, definitely also that), but spending the day feeling safe, being someone that Florence came home to and looked at with fondness.

 

Patty ducks her head, resting her forehead on Florence’s shoulder and leaning into her. Florence’s arms slide around her, solid and warm.

 

“Patty?” says Florence, “Are you… okay?”

 

Patty takes a breath in. “Yeah, just--” She forces her tone to be light. “--just good to see you.”

 

“Well, you are in my home,” says Florence.

 

“It’s usually the best place to see you.”

 

“You could just text me,” says Florence, “we’re in the same city, we can see each other anywhere.”

 

“Yeah,” says Patty, “but I can’t do this anywhere.”

 

She presses a kiss to Florence’s neck and she feels Florence’s hands flex on her back in response.

 

“Hmm,” says Florence, “I suppose not.”

 

Patty presses her face into the crook of Florence’s neck for a moment -- she smells like sea air and burnt sugar, she must have been down at the boardwalk-- before she pulls back. Florence gives her an odd look, reaching up to cup Patty’s cheek in her hand. Patty closes her eyes.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” says Florence.

 

Patty could ask Florence about the letters, but she’s not entirely sure she has the right words to ask Florence why she’s kept them. It feels like it would lead to other, bigger questions, about why Florence lets Patty keep breaking in, why Florence lets Patty stay and borrow her big old tshirts to sleep in, why Florence lets Patty sleep curled against her.

 

She thinks about the Patty in those letters, clumsily asking for friendship and never daring to dream of a moment like this.

 

“I’m sure,” says Patty, pressing a kiss to Florence’s lips, light and fast, “What’s for dinner?”

 

“I don’t know,” says Florence, “what are you making?”

 

They fall into a familiar pattern, moving around each other in the kitchen, lingering touches as they brush past each other. They eat dinner and talk about work. Florence reads her book and Patty scrolls through her various conspiracy forums on her phone until she falls asleep against Florence’s side.

 

“Hey,”says Florence softly, “time to go to bed.”

 

“But ‘m already asleep,” mumbles Patty.

 

Florence laughs softly, guiding her towards the bedroom. She leans against Florence as they brush their teeth, more than she really needs to. If Florence knows she’s playing up her tiredness (as she always does), she doesn’t mention it, keeping her arm around Patty’s waist.

 

Patty rolls towards Florence as soon as they both lie down, wriggling under the covers to get comfortable against Florence’s side. Florence pets a hand through her hair and Patty smiles, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to it.

 

“Sorry,” says Florence, “I didn’t even ask if you  _ wanted _ to stay.”

 

Patty can’t quite make herself look up at Florence, but she does wriggle closer, pressing her face into the familiar warmth of Florence’s shoulder.

 

“Course I do,” says Patty, “you’re nice to stay with.”

 

Florence huffs a laugh. “Well. I try to be a good host.”

 

“You are,” says Patty, her mind falling into the fuzz of half-sleep, “You’re the only host for me.”

 

Florence is quiet for a long moment, so long Patty thinks that she must have fallen asleep. She feels herself begin to drift.

 

“Good,” says Florence, “because I think you might be the only guest for me.”

 

Patty smiles, tilting her face to press a sleepy kiss to Florence’s shoulder. Florence hums, a peaceful rumble against Patty’s ear.

 

“Good,” says Patty.

 

“Good,” repeats Florence. 

 

Patty falls asleep to the sound of the smile in Florence’s voice.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


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